We're Only Bleeding
by OpheliacAngel
Summary: The screen bled life, static simply dead noise to her ears until they all heard miraculous sound. Clearly, the panic had changed to hysteria. A fill on my h/c bingo card for 'depression.' Post-Series and Apocalypse.


**Title:** We're Only Bleeding

 **Author:** OpheliacAngel

 **Characters & Pairings: **Merrill/Marty, Karl/Essie, Minor Merrill/Drew, Prof. Murdoch

 **Genres:** Romance/Hurt/Comfort

 **Rating:** Teen

 **Summary:** The screen bled life, static simply dead noise to her ears until they all heard miraculous sound. Clearly, the panic had changed to hysteria.

 **A/N:** Written as a fill on my h/c_bingo card for 'depression.' Post-Series world in which the Fury have begun hunting down vampires and humans.

 **Soundtrack:** Clint Mansell's soundtrack for Moon

* * *

Professor Murdoch pulled the small ancient television hidden in the basement up to the living room of Mansbridge Academy. It was the only source of the outside world that any of them had. The human students had been pulled back home by their parents a week prior, having taken all their technological gadgets with them.

Merrill sat on the couch, legs pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around them, staring at the small screen as the Professor plugged it in and fiddled with it. Essie and Karl were silent on the other end of the couch, Karl's arm draped across Essie's shoulder as she curled in on herself further. Drew was most likely still down below, absorbed in his sketching, and Marty was hovering behind the couch but far enough away from Merrill that she didn't mind. She wondered if he didn't sit next to her because it was clear she didn't want it, but what Merrill wanted had never given Marty second thoughts before.

She didn't ask. She didn't look at any of the others or even at the Professor. She could see her reflection in that small screen and no one else's and that was what she was drawn to: her straight, dark hair and obnoxiously big, even _scared_ eyes.

Merrill didn't know how long she sat there, simply staring, but Marty cleared his throat behind her and she looked up at the Professor and then at the wall, it being too much to focus on someone else. Marty put a hand on the back of the couch and she could feel it, that small amount of pressure. She held herself tense until the hand left and she could see him clearly, striding across the room to give Professor Murdoch a hand, who was still trying to get the device to work, adjusting the antennas. The Professor took a step back to allow Marty to bend down and fiddle with something at the back of the television.

And then the screen bled life, static simply dead noise to her ears until they all heard miraculous sound.

"Told you I had magic fingers," Marty remarked, though it was under his breath.

Merrill ignored him in favor of the screen. There was no clear image yet, just gray masses crossing the screen and casting an occasional shadow, but there was a woman speaking urgently about the Fury. She didn't call them that, but by the way the Professor's face blanched, by the way he reached a hand out to squeeze Marty's shoulder, who was simply standing there not moving, one of the very few times Merrill had seen him so still since he had given his blood to her, she knew the woman was speaking of the Fury, who were currently ravaging the earth.

Even though the curtains were drawn tightly, Murdoch still went over to the windows to double check. This was a nervous habit of his ever since the Fury started their cleansing two weeks prior. The vampires had been locked down securely downstairs until the humans left early for the semester, but their absence was still before everyone realized that the Fury were going after humans too. Which, Marty explained, made a whole heck of a lot of sense considering humans were the vampires' only decent food source. Except for animals, and no one could expect a vampire to feed off of animals for very long.

Now they were still here, waiting to be found out, to be taken and killed. They were just sitting here, waiting, Merrill knowing they were all at the edge of their sanity.

At least Essie had Karl, who kept her grounded. At least Marty still had his sense of humor, for the most part.

Marty was still standing there; he hadn't moved an inch since they managed to get the television to start working. Merrill scooted forward, wishing more than anything that she could see the expression on his face. To see him this still and this quiet unnerved her more than anything else could.

Professor Murdoch seemed to share her worry, for he came back to Marty and laid a hand on his shoulder, whispering something in his ear. This seemed to bring him back, Marty turning his head slightly and nodding. Merrill scooted further over to her side of the couch, even though there was plenty of room, but Marty didn't sit down next to her. Instead he walked back to the Professor's office, clearly going downstairs. Merrill didn't understand, they had been trapped in there for a week and she certainly was nowhere near eager to retreat back there, even if only to lie in her coffin.

She must have watched him leave for too long; Karl held a hand out to her and she moved closer until she brushed against Essie, who didn't mind but clearly seemed to want the extra comfort. It was only another moment before the Professor sat down with them, watching them more intently than the screen, which seemed to be repeating the same loop over and over.

They had never seen the Professor at a loss for words, at a loss for reassurances and certainties. They had also never expected him to remain with them, certainly he had no obligation now. For Merrill, there were many things now that were hard to understand. There was half of her heart that wanted to go downstairs and persuade Drew to come up, berate him for already giving up, for not wanting to be with them when they needed to stick together now more than ever.

The other half of her heart ached fiercely for Marty. As much as they all hated his comments, they had come to not only expect them but rely on them. If Marty wasn't talking then something was clearly wrong and it was Merrill's territory, her _job_ , to fix it.

If she went downstairs then she would have to choose.

And Merrill was never much good at making decisions.

* * *

In her viscous dreams the screen bled life, sharp white light before toning down to a muted off white. The static was duller here than it had been earlier, this time more dead sounding until she heard actual voices. This time it was not only miraculous, but horrific. The woman was talking, except all her words were garbled, but there were screams in the background, cars colliding, people begging for their lives, the sound of fire that easily became her own soundtrack. It felt like she was there, in all that chaos.

The static came back after a short time, driving her mad in its finality. Soon all the world would be static and then bitter silence. Soon they would all be dead.

Clearly, the panic had changed in every facet of life to hysteria.

What was not so clear was Merrill's shelf life.

* * *

Several days later they all helped the Professor move their coffins upstairs. Now they no longer needed to share rooms, but they occupied four vacant rooms that had once belonged to the human students. Drew made a decision to remain downstairs, even despite how adamant Professor Murdoch was that they all stay in close proximity. Marty made a comment about downsizing his coffin so he could move it around easily as the five of them pushed and pulled, heaving with exertion, though only joked for the sake of keeping everyone's eyes off him. Merrill and the Professor saw right through him. Karl and Essie did too, but they were too preoccupied with each other than worry about someone who had never concerned himself with them before.

It was Merrill who didn't fit, since Marty had sacrificed his life for her own. However, if she was to look at it in that way then the Professor didn't quite fit either; both Merrill and Marty had saved his life from the ghosts of his past, literally, which was what probably led Marty to her in the first place.

Where his attraction and interest came from, she had no idea. Marty hadn't been trailing along after Merrill halfway, like he did most things. Maybe it was his decision to dedicate himself to this one cause, this lost cause, that softened her heart more than hardened it. Maybe it was also what scared her.

Marty who once didn't fit, who was only brash and bold and infuriating. Merrill, who had sublimated him somehow along the way, a moment which she could not pinpoint.

She often fit her dreams into her writing, it helped with writing imagery, but she never once discussed Marty's saturnine expression as he offered her a way out of death. The sound of his choking as he was pulled to the ground, the way he writhed in her arms before losing consciousness. The way something in her chest that felt too much like a heart pounded over and over and over until it was the only sound. The fear in her that was not enough to crush the guilt, only her own self-importance which had led her to this.

Marty was no less important than her. In fact, his sheer self-sacrifice to achieve nothing but Merrill's life, which he would not live to see, put him far higher than her in the Mansbridge Experiment. She could see it now: Professor Murdoch hooking her up to that polygraph machine, interrogating her as to what had happened, unable to believe what Marty had done. She would move past the guilt and the blame, lie to herself that Marty had meant nothing to her.

It was only one night.

One terrible night.

In real life, Marty had been saved against all the hope she didn't have. He was still clinging desperately onto life as if doing Merrill another favor by the time the Professor arrived. He had knelt down, eyes widening as he took in Marty's withered features and Merrill's hysteric ones. The panic became outward when he tried to take Marty from her, awakening something inside her that had long since slept.

"Don't touch him!"

The human girl was gone from the room, so there was no longer any need to be silent and hide. The Professor recoiled as Merrill grasped Marty more tightly, pulling his unresponsive body completely into her arms, retreating further back under the desk. She had known who the Professor was, although she was teetering very dangerously on the brink of catatonia, but nothing else had mattered in that moment than protecting Marty.

She wouldn't let the Professor take him away from her. Wouldn't let him tell her that Marty was dead, that he had come too late.

"Merrill." The word echoed; she had no idea how many times it had been spoken, but that was not the first. "Merrill, you must let me take him. He is still alive, which means we need to get some blood into him. Merrill, please."

She lowered her head, unable to see the Professor's reassuring eyes. They frightened her in a way she had not understood. "Don't take him away from me," she mumbled. "He… he did this…." _For me._ Merrill couldn't get the words out, didn't want to give them meaning or truth. Now it was down to how much longer she could hold on.

Hold on without Marty.

"I know. But you can still save him. _We_ can save him."

Something in her snapped, her limbs moving without her permission and releasing Marty just enough for Professor Murdoch to crawl slightly under the desk and take him out of Merrill's arms. Merrill scrambled out after him and followed closely behind as they retreated into the Professor's office, who laid him down on his couch and quickly hooked Marty up to an IV.

"He will need to drink after this first bag. This is merely sufficient to stray him from the brink of death."

Merrill nodded, already grasping a bag of blood that Professor Murdoch had only just given her and pushing it gently against Marty's mouth, who didn't even stir minutely at the smell. "You drink it then," the Professor startled her. She looked down at the bag in her hand with little interest, it meant nothing to her after all.

"I… I can't," her voice cracked. "Not after he…."

He didn't push her after that, didn't ask her to sit down or press her to drink blood that she knew her body still needed, didn't berate her for her loss of control, the fact that she could have very easily hurt the Professor without realizing it. She would need to apologize later, but for now she simply slid to the floor, holding Marty's hand - the one not hooked up to the IV - against her cheek.

"We have time," the Professor said, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Merrill had breathed for the first time in what seemed like days.

The memory of that night pulled at her until she was forced to stop whatever she was doing, as well as give her that same shortness of breath. Marty had recovered fine, slowly yes, but he had recovered. Merrill didn't think she ever would.

Now, when she looked down at a blood bag, all she saw was the one that Professor Murdoch had urged her to drink, the very action which would once more lead to her robbing Marty of his very livelihood. Of _their_ very livelihood. Some days, because of this, she had very little appetite, a fact that she had trouble believing Marty reciprocated.

Maybe writing about this would help her move past it, the Professor had told her that once.

But maybe Merrill shouldn't move past it so quickly.

* * *

They spent most of their days, _at the end_ , together.

They would huddle together in a small pitiful circle in one of their rooms and read to each other, or tell ghost stories, or just share their fears, the ones that they could handle anyway. They would never go down to the living room unless they were checking the TV for more broadcasts, which was only once a day. The Professor was terrified to keep them down there for some reason, maybe it was because it was too open, yet below ground was too closed off. They learned nothing. The same news report barely shifted and was made no more intelligible since the first time they had glimpsed it.

They slept when they were tired, which was _always_ , and slept when they were bored too. Once a day the Professor would drag them to one of the classrooms to do stretches, jumping jacks, push ups, whatever kept them fit and active and drove away the lethargy and an onset of depression. It was more about mental exercise than physical exercise, since they didn't need the latter. It was also just a way to keep their mind off of their present situation. The not knowing what was going on outside the confining walls of the Academy. This was the only time of day that she got to see Drew, who didn't so much as look at her or anyone else. Not that this behavior was new, but it was startling given their current situation.

It wasn't just that he stopped caring. It was like he stopped being one of them.

After another week and a half Merrill stopped caring about him, though came to a hard truth that she only stopped _pretending_ to care. Her eyes took her to Marty when she didn't want them to, when she wanted most to focus and not to betray her interest. There was a lack of enthusiasm but he was still there jogging in place beside her, sometimes throwing a grin her way that seemed one bit too fake.

Maybe Merrill was too late for this.

In actuality, it was too late for everything.

* * *

There were two blood bags thrown carelessly onto the dresser in Marty's room when she entered. It was the first thing her gaze was drawn to, then to Marty, who was sprawled out on his bed, hands behind his head, a casual pose but one look at Marty's face and he was anything but relaxed.

She leaned against the door in a pose she was never prone to be in, hand holding the top of the door. "Aren't you hungry?"

He barely seemed to register her. "Nah. Just tired."

It was her first instinct to berate him, then to challenge him. Marty always responded well to challenges. "That's because you're not active enough, Marty. If you lay around all day of course you'll be tired."

Marty sighed. He hadn't moved an inch since Merrill walked into the room. Maybe she would have to try entering his dreams, though it wasn't like she could control her own lately. "Leave me alone, Merrill." The door moved against her and she had the good sense to get out of its way before it slammed shut behind her. Her eyebrow raised at the realization that she hadn't been shut out.

She prodded further. "Marty, would you just talk to me?"

"What's it to you? Doesn't Professor Murdoch need you for something important?"

She bit back a growl. Marty could be a real jerk at times, but even she wasn't stupid enough, _anymore_ anyway, to be blind to the fact that he was merely using his standoffish nature as a mask to hide something from her. Something that needed to be talked about.

"We need to be in this together, Marty." Or rather, _I need to be in this with_ you.

She could see something shift in him, something just below the surface. Something that could still be brought to life and that Merrill had managed to drag out of him. "How long, Merrill?" He sat up and glared at her. "How long before the Fury come here, before we're all dead? Then what will sticking together have gotten us? Nothing and nowhere. If we split up, maybe some of us'll last longer."

It was an echo of her own fears, but that didn't mean she would become a slave to them. "How can you even say that, Marty?" Her tone was indignant, outraged, but she knew Marty wasn't trying to be overly cruel. He cared about Karl and Essie and the Professor and even Drew as much as Merrill did. And maybe splitting up was the best option in the way of logic, but none of them would survive on their own the second they separated. It was just a feeling, but a coherent one nonetheless. Unfortunately, she was already up on her feet and the fury of Marty wanting to take off and leave them all behind took her over. " You know, before I came in here I wasn't ready to give up on you. Now? I am."

Marty slipped back down to the bed, all the fight drained from him in the wake of his admission. "Yeah, well, good luck to you too, Merrill." She opened the door and slammed it behind her, but not before Marty finished his sentence, or wormed his entire agonizing self into her.

Damn him.

Damn the fact that she wasn't done.

* * *

A week later they stopped hearing from the Elders.

They knew they were on their own from there on out.

Professor Murdoch wouldn't say it, his voice never even had a hint of a tremor in it, but he was terrified. Here he was, responsible for all five of them. Drew, who wanted to keep away from all of them and Marty, who wasn't acting like himself. Merrill didn't know how long she could keep herself together, but she did it for the Professor, whom she felt increasingly bad for. It _had_ been his responsibility to look after them, to teach them, but losing contact with the Elders meant that they were most likely dead, which in turn meant that the Professor had every right to leave them here.

She could see it in his eyes though, he would never leave. This fact unnerved her and angered her at times, since they were all unknowingly leading him to his death. But if he wanted to stay, then she had no right to convince him otherwise.

He kept them sane for the most part. Kept them talking and laughing and exercising. Kept a close eye on all of them and left Merrill, inadvertently, to do the rest. Drew would rarely ever look at her when she tried to engage him in conversation, Karl and Essie didn't have much luck either. Marty joined them for all their activities, but the rest of the time he spent alone in his room, shadows from the crack of light between the curtains casting him in a pale, unhealthy light.

The blood bags didn't go away, the ones that were on the dresser. They increased from two to three and then to five. The sharp jump meant that he wasn't only not eating his fill, but that he wasn't eating at all. She hated to bring it to the Professor's attention, but she was determined that if they die then they die together. Not apart.

The Professor tried scheduling more activities after hearing his own worries for Marty duplicated by Merrill, but it was hard to coax Marty out of his room. To avoid the majority of suspicion, he would show up for one group reading and the exercise session, but after that Merrill found it increasingly hard _not_ to see him around. His lack of presence was palpable and frightening. Some moments she would think that he was gone, but her pride would never let her betray her true worries and go to Marty on every occasion of this fear. On the rare occasion that she forced herself to enter his room, he was always laying on the bed rather than in his coffin, as if he no longer had the effort to hide. The door was always open too, since Marty was aware that it would agitate the Professor to no end if he closed it.

Marty had shown up for breakfast that morning, although now that she thought of it he hadn't eaten, merely held onto his bag and then taken it back to his room. He had sat next to a sulking Drew and not clashed with him, as they had always been prone to do before, but breakfast had been five and a half hours ago, which meant he hadn't shown up for the group reading. Merrill's fear would turn into panic unless she crushed it down, so she sat on the couch in front of the television, watching a shaking Essie and Karl, who wasn't doing much better but trying to comfort her nonetheless.

Professor Murdoch's voice shook her attention away from them. "It is safe to assume that the Elders have either gone deep into hiding or have been captured by the Fury."

He didn't emphasize the latter suggestion, but Merrill knew it was the one he stood behind. The Elders had been fighting the Fury for weeks now, but they were outnumbered and very few other vampires had come to their aid. The Convocation had told Professor Murdoch to keep them here, as a last resort. So here they were still waiting, for instructions, to go off to a battle that Merrill was no closer to being prepared for than before she had entered Mansbridge Academy.

Essie wrapped her arms around herself, pushing Karl away with the movement. Being trapped here, they had all suffered lately, with Essie being no exception. Her hair was dull and limp and her clothes wrinkled, even in some areas bloodstained. It wasn't who Essie was at all, fashionable Essie who sometimes changed outfits three times a day, which meant it mattered less that Merrill looked as bad as she did.

"So what do we do now?" Essie's choked out words showed just how quickly they were all breaking down.

The Professor shook his head, at last having no answers for them. They could stay here and rot away slowly, wait until the blood bank was dry and they were forced to leave to find sustenance, if any humans still remained. Or they could leave now and find other vampires, fight against the Fury.

Karl was always ready to embark on a mission, but even he was speechless in the face of Essie's desperation. If put on the spot, he would most likely choose to stay. Professor Murdoch might not even give them a choice, but he said nothing pointing in one direction or another.

At a point, she could no longer tolerate watching Essie become less and less of herself. There was true panic in her eyes and no amount of reassurance from Karl could take it away. None of them could expect the Professor to do more, or to have even lied to them in the first place. The most he could do was sit between them and Merrill, letting them watch the same television broadcast. The mix of static and chaotic words became a staple in Merrill's everyday life, even straying into her dreams. This was one thing they couldn't escape from. It didn't mean Merrill had to sit there though, watching everyone fall apart and allowing herself to do the same, as if she deserved it. That _choice._

It wasn't over yet.

They weren't dead _yet._

Leaving the room to find Marty wasn't a decision that came easily to her. She could just go back to her room, lie down and maybe when she got back up again later she would feel better. She at least had to check in on Marty though, otherwise sleep would evade her in favor of wondering whether he was okay.

"We'll figure it out." Karl's voice carried over to her as Merrill left the room, searching for Marty. She found him easily enough, in his room, oblivious or uncaring of her appearance, though most likely the latter. Merrill slipped inside, betraying her prior decision to merely take a peek in at him and then leave. She pulled the door to, taking in the darkened room and the blood bags on the dresser. Marty still hadn't fed. It was easy to lose track of the days, but by the number of the bags it looked like it had been a week. She frowned and made for the bed without telling herself no.

She wasn't the comforting type, not like Karl was with Essie, but she had compassion. Marty needed her help and she would give it to him.

Merrill flopped down onto the bed beside him, stretching her legs up toward her body and curling close to him. Marty was no longer flat on his back, hands behind his head, which was the pose Merrill often found him in, but instead he was sitting up slightly, a pillow tucked behind his head, staring at the wall in front of him. Merrill pillowed her head on his leg and held out the first bag of blood, one of three that she had just plucked from the dresser.

"I know you want to drink." She occasionally caught his gaze swaying to the dresser, where the remaining five bags of blood laid. "You just need a little encouragement."

"Merrill…." She shushed him with barely a whisper and hooked up the first bag with a straw, bringing it slowly to his mouth. Marty wouldn't look at it or her, just kept staring at the wall. If she pushed him too far then she and Professor Murdoch would have to resort to more drastic measures. She didn't want to get the Professor though, she had told him that she could handle it in a gentle and non-penetrative way.

It was up to Marty now.

Head still partially pillowed on his leg, she moved up slightly to give herself more wiggle room and pressed the straw against his chapped lips. He was overly pale, gaunt even, and the shadows were doing nothing to lessen Merrill's urgency. His leg felt small and weak under her cheek, body alarmingly so as her arm wrapped partially around his back, not too tightly.

Marty just needed a little coaxing, that was all.

He no doubt had wanted Merrill's attention for so long and Merrill had never given it to him, only when Marty had stayed behind and almost died for her. Now it was taking him dying again to get what he wanted. The fact of it sickened her, even though she wasn't sure that Marty was doing this solely due to lack of attention.

"Just one sip, Marty. For me," she pleaded. She was taking advantage of the fact that she knew he wouldn't be able to say no to her, but Merrill figured that desperate times often called for desperate measures.

"Why?"

To tell Marty that she couldn't do this without him would be a lie. She could, but it wouldn't be the same and Merrill really didn't want things to change anymore than they already had. She thought about going into Marty's dreams and manipulating him there, telling him that she needed him, that he needed to stay alive for her. It wouldn't be fair, not anymore. So she gave him the simplest answer. "I never hated you, Marty. You were right, there's this dark side of me that I can't hide, a side of me that has nothing to do with being good and wanting Drew. Who so clearly wouldn't want me if I was the last thing on Earth," she said with disgust, amazed to find tears already welling in her eyes. Marty was looking at her now, but his gaze was hazy and she wondered how much of what she was saying he was able to understand. "But this side… it really cares about you and I don't know why. It doesn't like to see you like this. What I can't understand is that this dark side isn't my dark side at all… it's the me that I was so afraid to be for so long. It's the me that I want to be now. Do you understand that?"

Marty nodded. A hand slipped around to the back of Merrill's neck, massaging the skin there. "It's okay, Mer." That was when the tears came, trying to wash her away. As if Marty suspected this he held her close, her head tucked underneath his chin. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "Imma' selfish jerk." He grinned. "Always have been, always will be."

She placed a hand on his chest to steady herself as she shook her head. "If you are, then I am too. I never had the right to treat you like that. You were always looking after me, weren't you?"

"Always," he murmured into her collarbone, pressing a kiss there. His lips lingered but then left her, staring down at the bag of blood which she still held in her hand. She pushed it toward him, but Marty didn't take it from her. Her hand placed the bag in his hand and then gingerly wrapped around his own. His mouth parted, lips settling and then closing against the straw, and Merrill's smile was genuine as he took his first sip and groaned, relaxing against her. She could swear that she already saw some color return back in his cheeks. After the first sip came several more, long and slow sips, but then that was all Marty's body could handle at one time and she left him be, tucking herself into him as she felt him return.

When she looked up at Marty next, he was looking at something over her head in the direction of the door. She didn't turn around because she already knew who it was. Everything would be okay now, she was sure of it.

And if it wouldn't be then at least - like Essie had Karl - she had Marty.

 **FIN**


End file.
